


Shamir and Amiti

by solisaureus



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Love and Loss, Nightmares, Other, Shamir’s backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solisaureus/pseuds/solisaureus
Summary: Ten years after moving to Fodlan, Shamir still has nightmares about her late partner, Amiti. She wants to trust her new partner with her pain, but how can she afford to bond with Catherine after what happened?(Amiti is nonbinary)
Relationships: Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Shamir/Shamir’s dead partner
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Shamir and Amiti

Fog hovers low over the dewy grass, obscuring people’s feet as they walk by. Shamir can almost believe the illusion that they are ghosts gliding along, aimless spirits wandering about after being uprooted from their homes. Before being swarmed with refugees, Tring could have been any town along the northeastern coast of Dagda, its rectangular sandstone buildings and arched pillars indistinguishable from every other obscure metropolis in the region. Now it is remarkable for being one of the only towns left standing on the coast after the Adrestian invasion.

Shamir has been in Tring for 5 months, her parents having fled here with her after their hometown was destroyed by imperial soldiers. They celebrated Shamir’s 12th birthday shortly after arriving in Tring with a stale loaf of bread another refugee family had gifted them.

Two months later Shamir’s father went out with a group of men to scavenge the ruins of the surrounding area and never returned.

Within the last two weeks her mother fell ill with the pox that was making rounds in the city and finally succumbed to the hundreds of pustules covering her skin three days ago. Shamir was nearly ashamed to admit that she was relieved at her passing, because she had been in such pain toward the end that she could hardly move or speak. Shamir had dragged her mother’s body to the edges of the city by herself because no one else wanted to risk catching the pox themselves. After seeing what it could do to someone, she could hardly blame them.

Since then Shamir has been begging for alms on the street, but everyone here has about as much to spare as she does. She is so starving and desperate that she hasn’t yet properly grieved, and her numbness grows stronger the longer she ignores her pain. She looks out blankly at the spirits floating by, heads down as they scurry off to nowhere, and wonders how soon it will be before she really does become a ghost.

A coin lands in the cup she placed for alms, and Shamir startles as though it were ringing a bell. She looks up and sees a person about her age with a long black braid down their back and a dagger strapped to their waist. Shamir is instantly awestruck by their appearance; not because they are especially beautiful but because they shine with the kind of assured confidence that she hadn’t witnessed since before the imperial army had come to Dagda.

“Hi there,” the stranger says. “What’s your name?”

Shamir realizes her mouth has been hanging open and hastily snaps it shut. She averts her eyes and mutters, “Shamir.”

“Hmm, for some reason that suits you,” they say, the corner of their mouth lifting in an oddly knowing smile. “Wanna come with me? I have something to offer you.”

“What is it?” Shamir says, narrowing her eyes. Despite her passivity she still knows to be suspicious of strangers, after all the times she and her mother had been tricked or robbed whenever they let their guard down for even a moment.

To Shamir’s utter astonishment, the stranger laughs. “I can’t say it’s not good for you to be skeptical.” As they speak, they rummage in their pack and produce a handful of nuts, offering it to Shamir. “Will you trust me more if I tell you my name?”

Shamir snatches the morsels from their open palm and immediately tucks them away in her pocket. “What do you want from me?” she says, eyeing them.

“It's Amiti,” they say. “I’m trying to get a foothold as a merc around here, and...I need a partner.”

Shamir’s eyes snap open and she sees only blackness. The harsh brightness and sour stench of Tring’s backstreets fades away and she realizes heavily that her dreams were replaying her memories of Amiti again. She breathes a long, tired sigh and sits up on her bedroll, tugging her shoes on before she exits the tent she’s been sleeping in. The present slowly catches up with her as the cool air of the Faerghus night gently blows away her memories and she takes in the camp that the Knights of Seiros have set up in the middle of Magdred Way.

She makes her way to the campfire that the tents are circled around and sees Catherine’s back facing her. It must be her turn on night watch. Shamir walks past her and seats herself on a stump on the other side of the fire, warming her hands to the flames.

She looks up and sees Catherine staring at her, her head tilted to the side in consternation. “What’s keeping you up at this hour? I swear I’ve been dead silent.”

“I was asleep,” Shamir says, shaking her head. “I just needed air.”

Catherine chuckles. “Can’t imagine that the air inside your tent is much different from the air out here. Come on, what’s really the matter?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

Catherine feigns injury, putting a hand to her chest. “You wound me, partner. Aren’t I owed a teensy bit of vulnerability? After all we’ve been through together?”

Shamir frowns. “Catherine, we've only just met.”

“And you have been an emotionally impenetrable statue every moment since. How am I supposed to trust my partner with my life if I can’t even be sure she has a heart?”

“Rhea seems to trust me. That should be enough for you,” Shamir says flatly.

Catherine purses her lips for a few moments, then sits back and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Keep your silence. But I will crack that hard shell of yours one day, Shamir.”

—

The clamor of Nahar's street market swirls above the crowd's heads like heat, the sales pitches of vendors clashing with the rattle of change and the barking of stray dogs. It's been two years since Shamir took up the bow alongside Amiti, and she is acutely aware of her money pouch's weight at her hip. The pair had had a bit of a rough start as mercenaries considering that they seemed like amateur kids, but as Shamir picked up archery and as people grew more cutthroat the longer the war went on, they found themselves at a respectable level of demand. They can hardly retire comfortably, but they have saved up enough to replenish their supplies and weapons in one of the last functional centers of commerce on the coast. 

It's difficult to keep pace with Amiti as they effortlessly cut a path through the packed market, and it takes almost all of Shamir's focus not to lose sight of that long braid. Shamir's own hair is in a tight bun at the back of her head - perhaps Amiti is nimble enough to get away with their hairstyle, but Shamir has been grabbed by the hair one too many times in fights to risk it. She finally catches up with her partner at a stall selling fruits and vegetables, and Amiti stands there casually as though they had been waiting for hours. They flash a smile at Shamir and nod to the produce. "What do you think?"

"How many times must I remind you that we can't waste money on perishables?" 

Amiti rolls their eyes. "Come on, haven't we earned a treat, Shamir?" they purr. 

"We've earned the right to stay alive," Shamir says sternly. 

Amiti frowns and pulls their bag around to their front. "Let's see..." they say, examining its contents. "We restocked your quiver, got a new whetstone for me, replaced that broken compass, stocked up on those tough cakes you insist on, and bought enough dried meat and vegetables to last us a month. And we still have some cash to spare, don't we?”

"Just because we have it doesn't mean we should squander it," Shamir scolds. "What if you get hurt tomorrow and we need to pay a healer? What about the ship fare to take us to Fodlan?"  


Amiti's expression changes at the mention of their plans to leave Dagda. They had never verbally acknowledged that their homeland was doomed, just quietly began setting aside a fund to abandon it for a better life across the eastern sea one day. Neither of them had ever been to Fodlan or even known anyone who had, and they couldn't stop themselves from daydreaming about the haven it must be. What must it be like to live in the Adrestian Empire, to be on the winning side of this war? To see imperial soldiers walking down the street and not have to run and hide? Shamir had once read that there hadn't been war within the continent for 300 years, and she could scarcely imagine it. How different the people must be there, such a far cry from the survival-driven culture that Shamir had known for the past three years. Perhaps the neighbors there share food with each other, or look after the children on the street. Perhaps there are no children on the street in a land that knows peace. Perhaps someone would have helped Shamir bury her mother if she had been living in Fodlan when she died. Shamir isn't sure that a land like that even has need of mercenaries, but she thinks she would rather be out of a job in Fodlan than a rich sellsword in Dagda. And as long as she has Amiti with her, anywhere can be home.

Amiti smiles and their eyes soften. "You're right, as always. Come on then, let's go enjoy our spoils a bit."

Some time later, the pair settled down in a grassy patch on the sunny side of a low stone wall at Nahar's outskirts. Shamir brings her knees up near her chest and leans her head back against the warm stone, and Amiti scoots right up next to her. If Shamir closed her eyes, she could almost imagine they were somewhere else, that they were having a picnic in an idyllic meadow near their future home in the Empire, the same sun shining down on them. 

"Hey, be honest," Amiti says, and Shamir opens her eyes and looks over at their puckish face. She likes to watch the mole on their upper lip move as they talk. "Do you actually just not like fruit?"

Shamir turns her face to her knees and breathes a laugh. "No, I promise I do. I just know that one of us has to be responsible with our money, and it's not going to be you."

"Oh, good," Amiti says, ignoring the jab. “Because if you didn't, I would look pretty dumb in about three seconds." 

Shamir narrows her eyes in confusion and watches as Amiti rummages through their bag. When they pull out a handful of loose dark purple berries, her eyelids fly wide and her mouth opens, a scolding hot on her tongue. 

"Before you yell at me!" Amiti hurries to say, nervous laughter beneath their words. "Before you yell at me, I promise I didn't steal these! I bought them with a coin I stashed away a few days ago. If you'd caught up sooner you would've seen it happen, slowpoke." 

Shamir rolls her eyes and plucks a berry out of Amiti's palm. "Why go to the trouble?"

"It's called a gift," Amiti says as Shamir pops the fruit into her mouth. "I know its a foreign idea nowadays, but you must at least be familiar with the concept, yes?"

Shamir glances at them out the side of her eye. "Are you...blushing?" 

The flush on Amiti's cheeks spreads up to their forehead. "W-well, it's...y'know, it's been two years to the day since we met, and I just...wanted to...do something nice, or whatever," they mumble, each word spoken softer than the last. 

The sound of the grass rustling in the breeze seems deafening as Shamir stares, speechless at the frank kindness. A fluttering sensation fills her chest, and it oddly reminds her of fear. She doesn't know what to say so she leans forward suddenly and presses her lips to Amiti's with neither finesse nor timidity, and then pulls back just as quickly. She leaves a berry-sweet smudge on their bottom lip and chin. 

"I'm glad I met you too."

Shamir breathes in as she wakes. Again.  
She doesn't need to check the clock to know dawn is just about to break - she's spent enough time sleeping outside that it isn't hard to tell the time from the shade of the sky. There is no point in trying to go back to sleep for another hour, so she gets dressed and makes her way to the dining hall. Outside, the early morning air is chilly, and the dew on the grass has formed tiny frozen beads, characteristic of the Red Wolf Moon's transition to winter. 

In the kitchens, Shamir can hear the dining staff dutifully preparing breakfast for the students and faculty of Garreg Mach. She wanders over to the beverage station and prepares a hefty mug of black tea to shake off the sleep from her brain. She takes her hot drink outside to one of the stone benches near the gazebo so she can watch the stars gradually fade from view. The waning half-moon is visible too, and no matter how many times she sees the moon in the morning sky, she can't help thinking it looks out of place. Idly she wonders if the other Knight of Seiros think the same thing every time they see Shamir at the monastery.

She tries to shift her mind to other things, but last night's dream persistently hangs over her head. If she'd known at the time that she would only need to pay for one person's ship fare, she would've indulged in a feast of juicy fruits to share on that last carefree day. Shamir sighs and takes a long sip of her bitter tea. "It's been ten years...why can't I move on?" she mutters out loud. 

"Shamir? That you?" calls a voice from inside the dining hall. Shamir looks and sees Catherine poking her head out through the doorway, her straw-blonde hair sticking up more than usual and her eyes dull with sleepiness. Seeing her partner sitting out by herself, she walks over to her with a plate of eggs in hand and invites herself to share the bench with her. "What are you doing up so early?" 

Shamir looks down into her mug as she takes a sip. "I could ask the same of you," she says.

Catherine barks a laugh. "Hah! Deflecting as usual. I have orders to meet with the mayor of Remire this morning to hear out his request for aid from the Church. The ride is a few hours, as you know. So, I'm up early. Alright, your turn."

"Going out on your own this time?" Shamir asks, as she has received no such orders herself.

"Lady Rhea doesn't anticipate any danger. I can handle myself without you sometimes, you know." 

"I know better than to doubt your abilities at this point, Catherine," Shamir admits. 

"I'm honored by your praise," Catherine says with an extravagant wave of her hand as she mocks a modest bow. "But really, why are you up? You've been so overworked lately, I would've thought you'd take the opportunity to sleep in for once."

Shamir shakes her head. Sleeping in requires the kind of mental tranquility that has evaded her for over a decade. "I just couldn't sleep. Nightmares," she adds, before she can think better of it.

Catherine's playful expression softens with surprise. "I didn't know you got those," she says. 

She shouldn't have said anything, but there was no way Catherine was going to let it go now. It was rare for Shamir to show her vulnerable side, even to her partner. Especially to her partner. She shifts, subconsciously closing herself off with her arms and legs. "Yes, well...we all have regrets. I can push them down during the day but they always come up again at night."

"Regrets, huh?" Catherine says. "I've got a few of those as well."

"You? You're always so sure of yourself. I've never seen you doubt your actions for a second."  
Catherine chuckles mirthlessly. "Well, everything I do nowadays is at the behest of Lady Rhea, and I know better than to doubt her. But...I didn't always feel that way. I once betrayed someone close to me because he threatened the Church of Seiros, and, well...I know it was the right thing to do, but it haunts me nonetheless."

"You're talking about Christophe Gaspard," Shamir says plainly.

Catherine looks up at her, wide-eyed. "I...yeah. How did you know that?"

Shamir shrugs. "I read the records of the Knights of Seiros shortly after I joined. I know you turned him over for political execution. I also know from the Officer's Academy alumni record that you were in the same class when you were students here. Doesn't take much to connect the dots."

"Well then, I guess you already know my darkest secret," Catherine says, rubbing the back of her neck. "But you have me at a disadvantage. _Your_ records aren't in the library."

"No, they aren't."

"So I won't know about your regrets unless you tell me about them."

"I suppose not."

Catherine stares at her as Shamir takes a long sip of her tea. After a minute of silence she makes a motion to stand and says, "Alright, keep it to yourself then. I'm off to Remire."

Shamir catches her sleeve before she walks away, biting her lips. She holds a breath in for a second, then sighs, thinking that it might be good to finally tell someone. "I...lost someone. My partner. In Dagda." 

Catherine sits back down and faces her, sincerity apparent on her expression. "I'm sorry." 

"It was my fault," Shamir says softly. "My job was to keep them safe, and I let them die." 

"Unless you were the one that killed them, it couldn't have been your fault, Shamir," Catherine says, her tone even and serious for once. 

"You weren't there," Shamir says, her voice nearing a whisper. 

"I'm here now," Catherine asserts, putting a hand on her partner's shoulder so that she's forced to look into her eyes. "And I can tell you that if the guilt still keeps you up at night after all this time, then you're blaming yourself too much for something that wasn't your doing."

Shamir looks aside. "I don't—"

Holding up a hand as she stands, Catherine interrupts her. "Just think about it, okay? I'll see you when I come back in a few days." 

"Catherine."

"Hmm?”

Shamir hesitates, then looks back up at her. "Take care." 

—

Mercenaries rarely make an appearance on battlefields, and for good reason. Most hits are carried out from a safe distance or in a controlled setting, to minimize the risk of dying on the job and maximize the chance of turning up the next day to collect a reward. Shamir in particular opted to become a sniper for the advantages of taking out her targets quickly and easily without ever getting close enough for them to fight back. But a battle is a wild frenzy for survival that puts a merc at the mercy of their enemies. The bounty needs to be quite steep to be worth the risk of facing an army. 

And it is. Yesterday Amiti returned from town buzzing with excitement, speaking so quickly that they had to repeat themselves several times when they told Shamir about the contract they just made. A Nahar nobleman was convinced that destabilizing the imperial army as they made their way south would force them to reroute around the city and leave important trade routes to the north unobstructed. Amiti had their own doubts about how realistic that idea was, but when the client offered ten thousand gold for the head of the brigadier general leading the southern troops, Amiti buried their reservations and shook his hand with immeasurable enthusiasm. Ten thousand gold is more than enough to leave Dagda behind and finally start their life together in the Empire, and both of them were convinced that the reward far outweighed the risk. 

That was yesterday, and today the pair has snuck in with the Dagdan army for their chance to target brigadier general Bergliez on a day when they know where he'll be. Their plan is to divert from the army once they reach the battlefield and station Shamir at a predetermined vantage point in the trees while Amiti routes around the area to penetrate behind enemy lines. It's the system they've relied on since they became partners; Amiti distracts the target with words or combat and draws them into the range of Shamir, who fires a clean shot as soon as she can line it up. A swarming battlefield is a more chaotic setting than they're used to, but it's nothing they can't work with for ten thousand gold. Just one more hit, and that's it. One more hit will set them up for years.

The clearing where the Dagdans anticipated to meet the imperial army is full of withered grass, and the sky above hangs heavy with imposing grey clouds. Shamir and Amiti sneak off just before the treeline gives way to the field, disappearing in the brush to hone in on the position they chose for Shamir to lie in wait with her arrows. They finally come across it: a tree with low, thick branches and an especially clear view to the east. Shamir will be able to see the army officers marching past row by row as they make their way south toward Nahar, and yet she is deep enough in the shadows that she is undetectable to the soldiers. 

The two of them sit together in tense silence while they wait for the two armies to approach one another. The stakes are higher than they have ever been, and neither of them can come up with something to say that fits the gravity of their prospects. Much is still left unsaid between them, but there will be time after it's over to say it. There must be. Shamir is convinced that if she opens up with a big confession now, she's admitting that it might be her last chance to do it. She swallows hard. No. She will tell Amiti her true feelings once they're on the ship together to cross the sea.

In the distance, a horn blows to signal the imperial army, and soon raindrops start to fall, as though shaken from the heavens by the sound. Their window will be small. Amiti looks straight into Shamir's eyes and smiles as naturally as they can. "Hey, shoot straight, alright?" they say.  
Shamir bites her lips and nods. "I'll see you on the other side."

With that, Amiti bounds off eastward, rapidly retreating from Shamir's gaze with every step. The success of the contract is in their hands now, and all Shamir can do is trust them and wait in the trees with her arrow nocked. 

By the time Shamir catches sight of Amiti again, the rain is falling heavily and she curses her lowered visibility. She has no idea how her partner did it, but brigadier general Bergliez is on Amiti's tail with a battle axe in hand and a small entourage of soldiers behind him. Amiti stops running right in line with Shamir's range and turns to face their pursuers. Spinning wildly with their two shortswords, they're able to dispose of two soldiers before the shaft of Bergliez's axe connects hard with their knees, knocking them into the mud. Shamir's heart beats faster and she draws back her bow, but she might hit Amiti if she fires now. As she watches, Bergliez twists his thick wrist into Amiti's braid, pulling them up. Amiti tries to escape his grasp, but the general is strong and restrains their arms against his chest. Even at a distance, Shamir can see the whites in her partner's eyes when Bergliez draws a dagger and puts it to their throat. 

The world stops spinning and Shamir's blood freezes in her veins as she realizes what's going to happen. Her arms feel frozen, her arrow locked in place. _Shoot now,_ part of her urges. _You can still get away and collect that reward. You can't help them. Don't die for them._

But if Amiti dies...

If Amiti dies...

"Shamir!" 

The shriek of her name cuts through the thunderous rain like a strike of lightning. Suddenly Shamir's eyes are clear again, and Amiti is crying out to her. The general squints into the trees, unseeing.

"Shamir, shoot! Do it! Do it now!"

Her bowstring is released. The general's dagger plunges into Amiti's throat. A millisecond later, the arrow pierces the general's left eye, and the two of them fall to the ground in unison. 

_You can't help them,_ Shamir tells herself again. She rips her gaze away and runs. 

When Shamir opens her eyes, sunlight is streaming through her window. Disturbed by her nightmare, she reaches out across her sheets for Catherine, but the bed beside her is cold and empty. She sits up and looks around, then remembers where she is. She's in Garreg Mach Monastery, having helped Emperor Edelgard wrest it from the hands of the Knights. Catherine has escaped to Fhirdiad, wounded into retreating by an arrow to the abdomen.

**Author's Note:**

> The majority of the details about Shamir’s ex-partner is left up to interpretation, so here’s my interpretation! Shamir’s A support with Byleth has her referring to her old partner with they/them pronouns (i know it was changed to he/him but let me have this) so I made them non-binary. 
> 
> This was originally going to be part of a much longer cathmir fic but I lost momentum with it and I don’t want what I’ve already written to just collect dust. 
> 
> Also I really liked Shamir’s supports with Caspar and his guilt surrounding his family and the war with Dagda so I chose to lean aggressively into that.


End file.
